Not Quite Thelma and Louise
by Qihotex
Summary: Two blondes meet in a bar. That's the last normal thing that happens to them that week. Completed for 6th Annual IDF.
1. The Auction

**Disclaimer:** This is a derivative work. All BtVS characters and concepts belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox Television, and others. Sam Carter, Furling, and all things Stargate belong to a multitude of Big Media Companies. Certainly not me.  
**Spoilers:** Seasons 1-3 of BtVS. Stargate: Indeterminate. Other fandoms: See specific chapters.  
**Pairings:** Joyce Summers/Sam Carter  
**Summary:** Two blondes meet in a bar.  
**Author Notes:** Some parts of this won't make sense if you haven't read the previous story 'Elven Wishes'. So read that first and come back. This is a Joyce-centric story set in that AU. Rated T because ABC Family gets more explicit than this will ever be. See end for additional notes.  
**Word Count:** 3,520 (Part 1 of 3?)

* * *

_This chapter was written for the 5th International Day of Femslash on July 14th, 2012. The final chapter should be written and posted for the 6th IDF on July 20th, 2013._

* * *

Unbuttoning her wool jacket with her free hand, Joyce looked surreptitiously around the large ballroom in the old mansion. For her first official out of town buying trip since opening her gallery in Sunnydale, she'd picked a three day estate auction in Chicago.

It was something she could fly to and from without being away from Buffy and Dawn for more than several days. While she trusted Buffy to watch her sister, she wasn't quite ready to leave them together without supervision for any longer than that.

There was just something wrong about Sunnydale. No matter how pleasant it appeared during daylight, a shiver ran down her spine whenever she ventured outside after sundown. And Pat, their next door neighbor, was a little too nosy for comfort. She didn't want her snooping while she was gone. As soon as Buffy finished high school and went off to college, she was packing herself and Dawn up and moving somewhere else.

Her vibrating phone was only a brief distraction. Digging the bulky object out of her purse revealed a message from Buffy, texting her to let her know that Dawn was safely in school. Putting it away, she went back to watching everyone else in the room as they milled about.

Joyce nodded to several buyers she recognized from other galleries, traveling art buyers she'd become acquainted with on previous buying trips. But most of the faces in the crowd were unfamiliar. Not surprising, she thought. Very few people could take the pace long term. Hopefully she'd come away from this auction with enough items of the sort popular with her clientele to supplement her local buying trips for another year.

Making herself comfortable, coat off, auction catalog and notes in her lap, coffee in hand, she idly wondered about the small group sitting off to one side. She hadn't seen them the day before at the open house. If they were trying to be unobtrusive they were failing spectacularly, in her opinion. She'd grown up near an army base and recognized the look. Even the tall blonde woman in the group carried herself like the veterans who would sometimes wander into her father's bookstore.

Watching them to see what they were interested in would add to the excitement. She'd discovered years ago that watching the way other people acted as they bid could tell her a lot about the actual value of an object outside her regular expertise. And the more she watched someone, the easier it became to read them. She hoped this skill hadn't deserted her in her time away from the action, though her aunt claimed the ability to read strangers was part of the family legacy.

* * *

She hadn't planned on bidding for any of the Egyptian or Greek artifacts included in the second afternoon of the estate sale, instead spending that day wandering around the mansion, looking at the paintings and furniture that would make up the bulk of the final day of the auction.

The more interesting pieces were ones she'd recognized as known forgeries. She'd come across some of them during a brief stint as a research assistant, while working on her MFA. Although there was a market in such things, they weren't something that sold well in a small gallery such as hers, even if she could find room for them in her limited storage in her gallery or house.

But she'd picked up several interesting looking examples of African tribal sculpture, several elaborately carved wooden Hindu boxes, and a pre-Napoleonic Wars painting of the Egyptian pyramids by an obscure English painter the day before. One of her regular patrons would probably pay enough for it to at least cover her expenses for the trip and her secretary's salary for almost a year.

* * *

Wandering into the hotel bar after a quick bite at a restaurant across the street, Joyce's curiosity got the better of her when she spotted the blonde she'd seen the first day of the auction. Sliding onto the bar stool next to her, she motioned the bartender over.

"A glass of Chablis," she said, tapping the bar in front of herself, "and a refill of whatever she's drinking," she added nodding at the other woman, giving her a warm smile.

"Thank you," the blonde said, startled at the appearance of another drink.

"Joyce," Joyce said, introducing herself.

"Sam," the blonde said. "Sam Carter." Giving Joyce a puzzled look, she paused before asking, "You look familiar. Have we met before?"

"You were at the auction at the Herzog estate today," Joyce said. "I outbid one of your friends for a painting of the pyramids."

"Oh!" Sam said.

"I hope he wasn't too upset at losing," Joyce said.

"No," Sam said. "What do you plan to do with it?"

"I'm not sure," Joyce said. "I don't usually buy paintings from that era but something about it spoke to me. It'll fit in with several other pieces I own."

"What do you do for a living, if you don't mind me asking?" Sam said.

"I own a small gallery in California," Joyce said. "And what do you do for a living, Sam Carter," Joyce asked. "Something for the government I suspect. Military?" she said, nodding to herself.

"Yes," Sam said, surprised. "How could you tell?"

"You have that look," Joyce said, smiling at her. "So, your friends left you by yourself?"

"Not exactly," Sam said, pointing to three men sitting at a table across the bar, near a large screen TV. "Hockey game."

"Not a fan?" Joyce asked, leaning closer.

Sam shook her head, taking a sip of her drink. "No."

"My eldest at one point tried to follow in Dorothy Hamill's footsteps," Joyce said, shaking her head. "So I'm familiar with the fascination with ice-born activities, but there's a lot less physical contact in figure skating."

"Eldest? So, children?" Sam asked, shifting slightly in Joyce's direction.

"Two daughters and an ex who somehow makes them seem mature," she said, holding up her ringless hand.

"You don't look old enough for children," Sam said.

"Good genes," Joyce said, winking at her. "And chasing after an eleven year old."

"The skater?"

"No, my youngest," Joyce said.

"Another?" Sam said, pointing at Joyce's glass.

Joyce looked down at her glass in surprise, having finished it without realizing it. "If you're buying," she said. "Why not."

* * *

Joyce groaned, and tried to rub her aching head, only to find she couldn't move her arms. And she was leaning against something smooth that was definitely not bed-like.

"What was in that wine," she mumbled, trying to sit up, blurry memories of her previous night's activities flashing through her mind. It really must have been the wine, she decided, visions of a naked blonde Amazon causing her to blush. She'd thought she'd left her experimentation stage far behind when she'd met Hank.

"Are you okay?" a now familiar, hoarse voice asked.

Opening her eyes, Joyce winced at the bright light, reflexively attempting to rub her eyes, in the process reminding herself that something was preventing her from moving her arms. Squinting up, she followed chains from manacles on her wrists to a large eye-bolt in the ceiling.

Using the chains to slowly pull herself to a standing position, Joyce looked around, finding herself in a small room, empty except for herself and Sam, her delectable companion from the previous night.

Chained to the opposite wall with gold manacles, Sam appeared to be dressed as an extra in a Bollywood musical. Glancing down at her own body she realized that she was wearing something similar herself, but with her manacles a dull grey.

The bright light seemed to be coming from multiple places in the room. A large panel, slightly darker than the rest of the room looked like it might be a door, though how one opened it was a mystery. It was obvious to her, and a little worrying, that the room wasn't intended for long term occupants.

"Not how I'd planned to spend the day," Joyce said, grimacing, not ready to panic over what could possibly be someone's idea of a practical joke, though no one she knew would do something so elaborate. "This happen to you often?" she asked Sam, who seemed overly calm if a little uncomfortable looking.

"Getting kidnapped out of my bed in the middle of the night?" Sam said, her voice still hoarse. "No."

"So that was your room ?" Joyce asked. "Things are a bit fuzzy after we left the bar last night. At least I think that was last night."

"Yes," Sam said.

"Yes?"

"Yes, it was my room, and yes, that was last night."

"Not so fuzzy memories?" Joyce asked, frowning.

"No," Sam said, blushing. "I remember every minute of our night, including when we were rudely interrupted."

"Well, we'll have to do that again sometime," Joyce said, smirking. "Wouldn't want you to be the only one who remembered last night. But without the interruptions."

"No interruptions would be good," Sam said, carefully leaning back against her wall.

"Are you okay?" Joyce asked her in turn, concerned about the slight groan Sam made.

"Not too bad," she said, wincing.

"Any idea where we are?" Joyce asked.

"No, they knocked me out," she said.

"What about your people? Think they'll rescue us?" Joyce asked hopefully. Other than a brief introduction after the game ended, she didn't really remember them. There'd been the older man who was Sam's boss - Jeff, Jack, Jim, or something like that she thought. The man she'd outbid for that painting was a Danny or Daniel, and the last one was Murray, though he didn't really seem like a Murray to her.

"They'll try," Sam said. "But finding us might be a problem. Unless they were kidnapped also."

"So it's up to us?" Joyce asked, experimentally tugging on her chains. "To rescue ourselves?"

"Yes. But getting out of these might be a problem," Sam said. "There doesn't appear to be a keyhole. They must be electronic."

"Which isn't good?" Joyce asked.

"No," Sam said bluntly. "I'm not familiar with the costumes but these tend to be used by people it's best to avoid." She gestured with her hands.

"Harem dancers from a Bollywood musical," Joyce told her, shaking her head. "Buffy and her friends like to watch them."

"Ah..." Sam said. "Cassie prefers spaghetti westerns."

"Cassie?" Joyce asked, hoping this wasn't Sam's secret girlfriend.

"A friend's daughter," Sam said. "I'm her honorary aunt."

"Oh," Joyce murmured. "You didn't mention any children last night."

"No. No children. I couldn't do it," Sam said. "Some people might think I'm selfish but..."

"Your job is more important?" Joyce asked.

Sam shrugged, a indecipherable expression crossing her face.

"Okay. So how do we get out of here?" Joyce asked, steering the conversation back in a useful direction, even if she wanted to know more about Sam. That could wait until they were free. "Once we get out of these," she added, shaking her hands.

"If we can get to the door, I can open it," Sam told her confidently.

"I might be able to get out of these," Joyce said, trying to get a closer look at the thin manacles.

"They're Houdini proof," Sam said. "None of his tricks work. I've tried them."

"I know a trick or two that he didn't," Joyce said, twisting her arm. "What are these made of?" she asked, now noticing a familiar faint tingle from her wrists.

"A very dense metal," Sam said. "Possibly a blend of Naqhadah and something else."

"Never heard of it," Joyce said. "But I think I've seen something like it before."

"Really? Where?" Sam asked.

Joyce shook her head. "You never did say who you work for," Joyce said. "Or what you do."

"Air Force physicist," Sam said. "I'm based in NORAD's Colorado Springs facility."

"So... Not anything to do with Area 51," Joyce said with a forced laugh, the chains an unfortunate reminder of what she'd said to Buffy months earlier.

"Uhm..." Sam started to speak, and stopped herself several times. "It's classified. Why do you ask?" she said.

"Really? I was just kidding," Joyce said, staring at her through her manacled hands.

"Some of my experiments need a lot of space," Sam said nonchalantly.

"Oh. Well, pretend you don't see this," Joyce said. "Or it can be our secret."

"Okay..." Sam said, giving her a confused look.

Closing her eyes, Joyce tried to get as comfortable as possible in her position, grasping the chain above her left hand for support, breathing deeply and slowly. She hadn't done this without help, the ring or otherwise, in years. It was going to take some time, she thought. And hurt.

Before she'd taken more than a dozen breaths, and found her focus, she was surprised to feel the process starting. It started with her fingers and toes, tingling as she changed. There wasn't the expected pain but the slight nausea she felt during a shift was still present. She knew there'd be a faint silver glow if she opened her eyes.

"Joyce?" Sam said, her voice soft, though Joyce hadn't told her she needed to be quiet. "What's happening?"

Joyce ignored the question for now, needing her full concentration for the change. She could see it in her mind. She was losing several inches in height and her arms and legs were getting thinner and stronger. And her face was taking on what Willow had called an elvish appearance, though she'd never seen it that way herself, not being a fan of fantasy, especially Tolkien's rather dry male dominated works. She much preferred the detective novels from the Twenties and Thirties she'd grown up with.

The change ended with a uncharacteristic rush of warmth. And the feeling of her pants, already barely staying on, sliding down her legs.

"Oops," Joyce squeaked, opening her eyes and looking down at her bare legs, seeing proof that their captors had skimped a bit on undergarments. "Just a sec," she said, looking back up at her manacled hands and not at Sam, sure she was blushing. "Well, at least they aren't shrink to fit."

"No," Sam said, in a husky tone.

Joyce could feel her eyes as she twisted the manacle around her left wrist. It was substantially looser but her hands were still trapped. "Just need a little leverage," she said, talking mostly to herself. "And lubrication…"

"Saliva?" Sam suggested.

"That or blood," Joyce said, nodding. "Let's try the pain-free method first. A lot safer."

* * *

Rubbing her raw wrists, Joyce looked at Sam. "How do we get you out of those?" she asked, frowning.

"I can't make myself smaller," Sam said, raising an eyebrow in clear question.

"No, it's inherited," Joyce said. "As far as I know anyway. And it takes training, usually."

"Really?"

"I'll explain when we're out of here," Joyce said. Or at least as much as she could safely share with someone with Area 51 ties, she decided. "Why are you glowing?"

"Glowing?" Sam said, startled. "Where?"

"Here," she said, touching Sam's manacles, "and here," she added pointing at scratches on Sam's forehead and arms. "And here."

"I don't see anything," Sam told her, twisting around in an attempt to look.

"Huh. Must be something the human eye can't normally see." She shook her head at Sam's look. "Later. Sorry."

"If the manacles are made out of Naqhadah, as I suspect, does that mean you can see it? It does emit particles at a higher wavelength than light. That would be a useful skill to have," Sam said.

"And other parts of you glow because of this Naqhadah? Is it dangerous" Joyce asked, worried.

"It's classified," Sam said. "Sorry."

"Still need a way to get you out of those," Joyce told her, looking around the small cell. "Any ideas?" Her manacles dangled from the ceiling but nothing else had changed.

"You're going to think it's crazy," Sam said.

"I'd like to call home before my daughters know I've been kidnapped," Joyce said. "Crazy is all we have right now. So?"

"Put your hands here," Sam said, holding up one of her own hands. "Touch the metal."

"Why are yours gold plated?" Joyce asked, following her directions.

"It's not important," Sam said, unconvincingly.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Concentrate, and visualize them opening," Sam said.

"Sounds too simple, but okay." Joyce frowned. "How long should this take?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. Her statement was followed by a click as the manacle Joyce was touching split in half and fell on the floor with a loud crash. "Now the other one," she said excitedly. Joyce quickly repeated her actions with the other manacle.

"How did you know that was going to happen," she asked.

"Educated guess," Sam told her.

"So, the door?" Joyce asked, adding it to her own growing list of questions about Sam.

"Right."

* * *

"What are those?" Joyce asked, letting Sam drag her behind a large crate to avoid several female figures in elaborate armor.

"Jaffa," Sam said.

"Which are what?"

"Minions of the thing that kidnapped us."

"You have that look on your face," Joyce said softly.

"Which look?"

"The 'I know it's classified but I should really be telling you what is going on' look," Joyce said. "Buffy does the same thing when she has a secret."

"Joyce?"

"Yes?" she asked.

Sam pointed behind her. "We aren't alone anymore, are we?" she said before slowly turning around. "I think we just failed 'escaping from aliens 101'." she said.

"Escaping and not getting recaptured is actually an upper level seminar," Sam told her. "It's not as easy as it looks in the movies."

"I assume you speak from experience?" Joyce said, reluctantly moving in the direction their silent captors indicated.

* * *

"Ah, you've finally decided to join us," an indolent voice said as they entered the room in front of their captors. "The infamous Sam Carter of SG-1, and her concubine."

"Well...crap," Sam said.

"Concubine!" Joyce said, glaring at the woman lounging on a cushion covered platform across the large room. "I'm not anyone's concubine!"

"Keep your halfbreed under control, Sam Carter, or it will be punished."

Sam put a restraining arm around Joyce's waist. "Don't bother," she said in a low voice. "That's a Goa'uld. It doesn't care what you think."

"A what?" Joyce asked.

"Alien parasite in a host's body."

"Oh." Joyce frowned for a moment. "So, real aliens? You don't keep them locked up at Area 51, do you? Not very friendly to out-of-towners."

"You're asking me that?" Sam said, incredulous. "You aren't from Earth either."

"Yes I am," Joyce protested.

"Not with those ears," Sam said. "Or the shape-shifting. Those are very un-Earthly features."

"My birth certificate says otherwise!" Joyce grumbled.

"Enough!" the Goa'uld shouted, standing up. "You're wasting my time!"

"Your last name isn't really O'Neill is it?" Sam asked Joyce, as they were pushed into the center of the room by several large Jaffa guards.

"No. Why?" Joyce asked under her breath as the Goa'uld approached them. Sam just shook her head.

"You don't look that impressive," the creature with the glowing eyes said. "Certainly not like someone to be afraid of," she muttered. "Kali does tend to be overly cautious."

"Kali?" Sam asked, receiving a glare in reply as the Goa'uld circled them.

The Goa'uld nodded, smiling to herself. "You will learn proper respect for your god. I believe you will like my methods much, much better than that fool Anubis. I might even allow you to keep your pet."

"I'm not anyone's pet!" Joyce said, drawing some security from Sam's arm around her waist, and another dismissive glare from the alien.

"Fetch my other guest," the creature said, waving at one of her guards, all of whom seemed to be female to Joyce's eyes. She continued to circle the two women while they waited. "You look like a Furling," she said, stopping in front of Joyce, "but we destroyed the last of that pitiful race long ago, even if the Asgard refuse to believe the evidence. Whose experiment are you?" she said, reaching out to touch one of Joyce's ears.

"Don't do that!" Joyce said, blushing, as the creature's touch caused an involuntary reaction. And now Buffy's unexplained comment about ears made a lot more sense.

"Excellent! Your creators even got that detail correct," she said, smirking. The creature tilted her head as if listening to something only she could hear. "Sappho finds you interesting. We shall see."

"Sappho?" Joyce asked Sam under her breath.

"The host," Sam said.

"Lady Arani! Lady Arani! She has escaped!" the guard said, returning to the room.

"And?" the Goa'uld said, waving her hand. "We have her ship, she won't go far."

A firm voice spoke from the front of the room, causing the Goa'uld to turn around in surprise.

"I have decided to decline your offer," the woman said, firmly placing her straw hat on her long blonde hair. "And they will be coming with me," she added, waving a thin metallic tube at the Goa'uld.

* * *

**End Notes:**

The blonde with the straw hat? She'll be official introduced in the next part. I don't own her. Her origin is well documented. The Goa'uld? Totally an OC. A minion of Kali who has decided to strike out on her own.


	2. A Rescue with brunch

**Notes:** See end for a Disclaimer update and additional spoilery notes.

**An important note about posting frequency/future installments:** I haven't decided if there will be 1 or 2 more parts. I haven't actually finished them yet (as of 5/15/2013). If there are 2, the next one will be posted here in mid/late June and the final will be posted for the 6th IDF on July 20th. If it ends up being 1 part it'll be posted on July 20th. The characters in this story **will** make future appearances later in the series but **this** specific story is short.

**Reminder!:** AU! For all fandoms involved. Really! Non-canon things will occur or be mentioned.  
**Word Count:** 3,239 (2 of 3/4)

* * *

Stepping out from behind the curtain, Romana stared down the Goa'uld. She'd known a Sappho once, before. In N-Space, before leaving E-space and K-9 behind threw her into this new universe. A universe where her people died out long ago after teaching one of the upstart races how to build stationary wormholes to other worlds, and the Daleks became the parasitic Goa'uld.

The Doctor would have crowed in satisfaction at that. Been delighted that the Daleks finally accepted the value of emotion even as he decried their slavery of the so called lesser races, like humans. But Romana wasn't so accommodating. Or trusting. She'd been bitten once too often.

It'd been a delicate dance, keeping the Goa'uld from guessing her true intentions, as she waited for certain events to occur and gathered as much information about their social structure, technology, and enemies as she could. She'd always assumed the phrase 'made her skin crawl' was a wholly human invention, until the Goa'uld had touched her in an overly familiar fashion.

Shaking her head, Romana watched for a moment as the Goa'uld circled her future companions. Or past, depending on where they were in her time stream at the moment. Better get things moving, she decided. Unlike the Doctor, she preferred to not rely on luck for an escape at the last moment.

"I have decided to decline your offer," she said, interrupting the ranting Goa'uld, firmly placing her straw hat on her head. "And they will be coming with me," she added, waving her sonic screwdriver past the Goa'uld.

"And if I disagree?" Arani said, waving at her Jaffa.

"It wasn't a suggestion," Romana said, activating her screwdriver, causing all of the Goa'uld and Jaffa in the room to collapse. Walking quickly, she headed for the door. "Well? Are you coming with me?" she asked the two gaping women.

"We haven't been introduced," Joyce said. "You could be worse than them."

"That isn't likely," Sam said to her, "but I'd also like to know who you are before we take you up on your offer."

"We have five of your minutes before they recover," Romana said peevishly. "Samantha? Joyce? We can talk about this on the way."

"The way where?" Sam asked, as she ushered Joyce out of the door in her wake. "And you know our names. And haven't told us yours."

"I am Romanadvoratrelundar. You may call me Romana," she said, stopping in front of another door further down the corridor and around a corner. Readjusting her sonic screwdriver, a much more efficient model than the antique the Doctor used to carry around, if she said so herself, Romana opened the door and strode in. Her TARDIS sat in a corner, radiating smug superiority. It was an old Type 40 she'd found abandoned in the ruins of this universe's Gallifrey.

It stubbornly refused to blend in with its surroundings, even after she'd fixed the chameleon circuit, a particular weakness of that model. Instead, for some inexplicable reason, plucking an image of the Doctor's own Type 40 from her mind to use.

Stalking up to it, she snapped her fingers, causing the doors to reluctantly open. Romana sighed. She'd never known of a TARDIS that pouted so much. "This is my TARDIS," she said, waiting for the inevitable reaction. Humans tended to react oddly, in her opinion, to such trivial details.

"A British Police Box?" Sam said, staring at it in disbelief.

"Yes, Samantha Carter," Romana said. "Coming?" she asked, stepping through the door and heading for the control console.

Sam followed her in, her arm once more wrapped protectively around Joyce's waist, in a familiar gesture. Romana took note of their closeness, even this early in their time stream. It was unfortunate that she wouldn't have time to study them further, she decided. She'd assumed that all human females behaved in the same fashion with each other when she first met them, an idea later experience had disabused her of.

"It's bigger on the inside," Joyce said faintly, looking around. "And a bit plain."

"Yes," Romana said. "Idris does not like unnecessary embellishments in her control rooms."

"Idris?" Joyce asked.

"My TARDIS, Joyce Summers," Romana said, trying not to show her amusement at Sam's expression. "Time And Relative Dimension In Space. She insists on being called Idris, though I do not know where she found that name, the temperamental old thing."

"A time machine?" Sam asked.

"Yes, Samantha," Romana said. "We should get you back where you belong before our angry host comes looking for us."

"What did you do to them?" Joyce asked, detaching herself from a bemused Sam.

"Merely stunned them," Romana said, randomly pulling on several levers on the console that didn't actually do anything but looked impressive to the uninitiated. "Daleks and their Gao'uld descendants are sensitive to certain sonic wavelengths."

"Daleks?" Sam asked.

"Yes, nasty little creatures," Romana said. "The Gao'uld have advanced, if you consider enslaving other beings instead of using mechanical shells to be an advancement."

"You can get us home?" Joyce asked.

"Yes," Romana answered. "Once I have moved us to somewhere safe, we can discuss where you need to be."

"Out of these," Sam said, tugging at her clothes with a grimace. "Some place we can find something less Goa'uld'ish."

"If you wish to change into something more suitable," Romana said, "go through that door, third door on your left." She waved them towards the door. Before they could disappear through it, something occurred to her. "Joyce?"

"Yes?" she said, pausing in the door.

"I would recommend that you not change back into your human form until we can take you home."

"Why?" she asked, looking between Romana and Sam, eyebrow raised.

"You will find things more comfortable here in your Furling form," Romana said.

"Why?" asked Sam, stepping back into the room.

"I will explain after you return," Romana said. She'd forgotten, as much as someone of her race could forget, how curious Samantha Carter could be. It was like living with the Doctor again, she thought nostalgically. Except with all the quirks of humans.

"Okay…" Joyce said softly, stepping back through the door and pulling Sam with her.

* * *

"Come on," Joyce murmured, pulling Sam down the hall. "The sooner we find something less embarrassing to wear the sooner she'll explain herself."

"She seems to know about us," Sam said. "Must be this time machine we're in," she mused.

"How so?" Joyce asked, stopping in front of the third door on the left.

"Time travel can have interesting implications for cause and effect," Sam said, shrugging.

"Personal experience?" Joyce asked, looking for some way to open the door. "You don't just chase aliens, do you."

"It's a long, classified, story," Sam said.

"Of course," Joyce muttered. "How does this open?" she said.

"Not a Goa'uld ship," Sam said. "A bit too plain," she added. "Voice activated? Or pressure sensitive?" She pressed on the door approximately where a doorknob would be. As soon as she removed her hand, it slid open to their left. "Interesting."

Looking in, Joyce took careful inventory of the room. Taking up a large portion of the far side was a large bed, at least king sized, she guessed. A makeup table with a large mirror, and two matching chairs, with bottles lined up in rows, and several collections of makeup brushes. A large closet was next to it, with clothes visible through an open door. Across from it was a large, tall dresser, looking hastily closed, small bits of cloth sticking out.

"It looks occupied," she said, completely entering the room.

"Think it belongs to our hostess?" Sam said, joining her.

Spotting a framed photograph on top of the dresser, Joyce crossed the room for a better look. Reaching up, she picked it up. The background wasn't familiar, with a purple sky and medieval looking buildings but the two people in it were. "Looks like us," she said faintly, handing it to Sam.

"So, our room?" Sam said, slowly turning in a circle.

"Future us?" Joyce mumbled. "Would it be a bad thing to run into our future selves? Isn't that a popular theme in sci-fi novels?"

"The world won't end, if that's what you mean," Sam said. "But changing the past can have some disconcerting effects. We should probably avoid talking with any future selves if at all possible."

"So, not just aliens then," Joyce said, shaking her head. "But at least we know the clothes will fit." Putting the frame back on the dresser, she joined Sam in front of the closet.

"Something casual?" Sam asked. "This must be yours," she said, holding up a very flimsy, satiny black dress.

"Something durable," Joyce said, taking it from her and hanging it back up. "These look like they would fit you." She held up a pair of faded jeans in front of Sam, who was at least half a foot taller than Joyce's current form.

"All of the clothes in my size look like things I would pick out," Sam said, taking the jeans and a long sleeved shirt from Joyce. "And it looks like we each have our own drawers in this," she mumbled, pointing at the dresser, one drawer pulled open, her cheeks faintly red.

"Do you want me to wait outside while you change?" Joyce asked, amused.

"No," Sam said, her blush getting deeper. "It's not like we haven't seen each other naked before."

"Okay," Joyce said, suppressing a giggle. Turning back around, she looked through the closest for something for herself, while listening to Sam change out of the harem outfit and into the other clothes.

"See anything you like," Sam said, looking over her shoulder several minutes later.

"Future me seems to dress in very impractical clothes," Joyce said, frowning. "I wonder when I'll start dressing half my age."

"I think you'd look very nice in any of these," Sam said. "Though some of these dresses do appear less like every-day clothes and more like costumes. But you could pull them off right now." "She did warn me that I'd be more comfortable staying this way," Joyce said, sighing. "I didn't think she meant that literally."

"Do you need help?" Sam asked.

"No," Joyce said, thumbing through the clothes in front of her. "Go sit down. This could take a while." She pointed towards the chairs. "So, what can you tell me about your life, Sam? That you haven't already."

"The exciting parts are mostly classified," Sam said. "Let's talk about you instead. Where are you really from?"

Turning her head, Joyce raised an eyebrow at her. "Ohio," she said. "My father owned a bookstore near Dayton."

"And he looked like that?" Sam asked.

"Of course not," Joyce said, holding up a dress that seemed to be made from leather, the corset top almost armor-like in appearance, with buckles and leather straps. "It's passed down on the female side. What do you think?"

"It's an interesting look," Sam said. "Very steampunk, with a feminine touch."

"Not my regular style," Joyce admitted, laying it down on the bed. "But tamer than some of the other dresses. And future me doesn't seem to like wearing anything that covers up her legs."

"Very nice legs," Sam said, looking down. "Covering them up should be criminal."

"I think you need more practice," Joyce said, laughing. "Flattery is an art you don't appear to have mastered yet."

"I'm sure the inspiration will help," Sam said, not turning around as Joyce stripped. "So, Ohio. That seems a little tame."

"For an alien?" Joyce said, pulling the dress over her head. It was form fitting in a way she wasn't used to, hugging her firmly. "I was born in Ohio, not some UFO infested desert."

"And the shapeshifting?" Sam asked. "That isn't a typical midwestern talent."

"No, it's not," Joyce agreed, twirling in a circle. There was something surprisingly sensual about the way the dress flowed around her legs as she moved. She'd forgotten how different things felt when she was in this form. It wasn't just her vision or appearance that was different. "But I only know what I was told by my mother and aunt. It's passed down to the eldest in the maternal line. And that's all I really have to say about it."

Sam nodded, picking up on her desire to not discuss it, though Joyce had caught the glint of curiosity in her eyes and suspected the topic would come up again later. Standing up, Sam held out her hand. "Shall we go see what our hostess is up to?"

"As you wish," Joyce said, giggling as she took her hand. This was the longest she'd been in this form in decades, and she suspected it was affecting her behavior. It made her feel slightly giddy and playful in a way she hadn't felt since college.

Sam raised an eyebrow, before pulling her out into the hallway.

* * *

Romana sighed. Meeting up with Joyce and Samantha again felt slightly anti-climactic. They weren't yet the same humans she'd spent so much time with, and they wouldn't be for a while. Right now, she was just helping them on their way. Their next meeting would be her first. She knew they would have a number of adventures of their own before that happened, but they'd never gone into great detail.

"So, when would you like me to drop you off?" she asked, acknowledging their presence, as they stood in the doorway.

"Before check-out at our hotel would be nice," Joyce said. "I have a flight to catch."

"What kind of control do you have?" Sam asked. "How close can you get us?"

"Idris and I can take you exactly to where you need to be," Romana said. "Simple temporal mechanics."

"So, no one will know we were kidnapped?" Sam asked.

"If you wish," Romana said. "Though I suspect you'll be more comfortable in a different room. Arani's Jaffa were not subtle when they kidnapped you."

"We can't go back to before we were kidnapped?" Joyce asked.

"You'd be crossing your own timeline," Romana said. "While not fatal, it can be a bit confusing and is best avoided."

"Ah," Joyce muttered, leaning against Sam. "I was just curious."

"Is time travel common in your culture?" Sam asked, her eyes bright with that spark of curiosity that Romana remembered. "Or is your craft unique?"

"My people no longer apparently exist in this universe," Romana said, "so in that respect it is possible we, Idris and I, are unique. I have yet to encounter other time travelers since coming here but the universe is a large place."

"This universe?" Sam said. "So, you aren't from here? Aren't there problems with crossing between different realities?"

"You're referring to your encounters with alternate selves?" Romana said.

"Yes…" Sam said. "How do you know about that?"

"This is not the first time we've encountered each other," Romana said. "As should have been obvious."

"You mean the room, and the clothes," Joyce said, poking Sam. "Isn't that confusing?"

"No," Romana said.

"You knew we would be kidnapped," Joyce said. "Why didn't you stop it?"

"I knew that we would encounter each other on Arani's vessel," Romana said. "You did not go into detail of the events that occurred before then."

"So, you just waited? For how long?" Joyce asked, her eyes following Sam as she wandered around the control room. "And why?"

"I would like to believe we are friends," Romana said. "I waited long enough."

"We've just met," Sam said, leaning down to get a closer look at the console.

"In a round-about way, yes," Romana said. "But, we've also known each other for a number of years."

"That long?" Joyce said. "So you've met my daughters? Does Buffy get into a good school? And Dawn, how was she the last time you saw her."

"Yes," Romana said. "And I can't tell you that."

"Why not?" Joyce asked. "They're my daughters."

"Time travel," Sam said. "Knowledge of future events can change things. And it takes away our free will to think our future is immutable. We'd end up doing things because we know we are going to do them."

"That is partially correct," Romana said. "There are fixed points in time that cannot be changed, even if you know about them. Events that must happen. It is best not to know what those are."

"But if you can make things better, shouldn't you?" Sam asked. "At what point do you step back when you know what is going to happen and can prevent it?"

Romana sighed. It was a discussion she'd had many times in the past with Samantha, to Joyce's amusement. "My people developed practical rules for dealing with temporal events, based on experience over a span of time that you can't conceive of. Sometimes, it is best not to interfere. Some events must happen," she repeated.

"Isn't that arrogant?" Sam asked. "What gives your people the right to decide the future?"

"We were known as Time Lords," Romana said sadly. "Time was ours to command. To manipulate. To rule."

"What happened to them?" Joyce asked, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder to stop her from responding.

"In this universe? I can only speculate. They've been gone for a very long time. Your people," she said to Joyce, "the Furling, had barely developed space travel when the Time Lords disappeared from this universe. In mine? They still exist as far as I am aware."

"Would breakfast be possible?" Joyce asked in the silence that followed. "That Goa'uld creature was a bit skimpy with meals."

"Idris does have a kitchen, but there's plenty of time in the future for you to experience that," Romana said, giving her a relieved smile. "I know just the place." She wasn't going to tell them that they'd been the ones to introduce her to the establishment she had in mind. "I believe you will find this somewhat amusing." Twisting a few dials, while mentally telling Idris their destination, she continued, "You'll want to hang on. It can get a bit rough."

A wheezing sound filled the control room for several seconds before Romana released the brake.

* * *

"Welcome to the 51st Century," Romana said, stepping aside.

"Is this real?" Sam asked looking up at the flashing sign. "I thought it was fictional."

"The restaurant itself is real," Romana said. "I'm told they do excellent mid 20th century Earth fare. Very popular, or so I'm told. The location is a collection of optical illusions and holograms. The end of the universe looks nothing like this. It was built as the setting for a form of recorded entertainment and stayed open afterwards."

"You've been here before," Joyce said, following them to the door.

"Possibly, though not yet," Romana said, frowning. "Your language isn't really adequate to express the intricacies of the situation."

"Really?" Sam said, glancing at her.

"Yes, your culture is built on the concept of linear time," Romana said. "How do you describe something that may happen, that you've already experienced, but might not?"

"Umm…" Sam frowned.

Romana nodded. "Exactly."

Before they could discuss it any further, they were interrupted at the door by the maitre d'.

"Do you have reservations?" he asked.

"We will," Romana said. "Romana and friends."

"Of course," he said, as if her response was a pass phrase. "Follow me."

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** **Disclaimer Update:** Romana II belongs to the BBC. Miliways, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe belongs to the estate of Douglas Adams. **Meta Trivia:** Romana II was played by Lalla Ward, a friend of Douglas Adams, who also wrote Doctor Who episodes for the BBC during the 3 Romana seasons ( 16-18 ) in the late 70's.  
**Note:** This Romana is #2. Instead of escaping E-Space (were she ended up back in classic Who Season 18 at the end of the E-Space Trilogy episode 'Warriors Gate') and going back to Gallifrey, she ends up in an AU of the Buffyverse. I haven't decided yet if K-9 escaped with her but he doesn't appear in this story.


	3. Cliff's Edge

**Disclaimer update:** Assorted fandoms are mentioned by characters in this chapter. None of which are mine.  
**Author's Note:** Last chapter of this story. But not the last story in the series with these characters. Joyce Summers, Samantha Carter, Romana, and Idris will meet up again for further adventures. Someday.  
**Word Count:** 3,907 (Part 3 of 3).

* * *

This chapter was posted for the 6th International Day of Femslash on July 20th, 2013. (Coming full circle with chapter 1.)

* * *

"We're here," Romana said, flipping several switches to put her TARDIS in standby, something she'd begun doing after the third time Idris had left her stranded in the middle of a revolution on some backwater planet. Somewhen in their travels together, Idris had latched onto the idea that the purpose of a Time Lord was to rescue lower life forms from themselves. Romana suspected it was Samantha's influence during their earlier travels, though she would never tell her that.

"Joyce, you'll probably want to change back to your other form before you go," Romana said. "Humans tend to react strangely to beings who don't look the same."

"We are a xenophobic race, aren't we," Sam said, shaking her head. "You'll need some different clothes," she added.

Joyce looked down at her leather strap and buckle covered outfit. "Yes. I like it but I don't think it fits my image."

"MILF?" Sam said, dodging Joyce's hand with a laugh.

"Professional, but fashionable businesswoman," Joyce said haughtily, only holding her poker face for a minute before giggling.

"Ladies, we can't dawdle. Someone will notice Idris eventually," Romana said. She was going to miss these two women, she thought. She'd forgotten how much fun they were to have around. "Joyce?"

"Yes?"

"Idris made you something," Romana said, pulling a small box out of a pocket.

"For me?" Joyce said, taking the box. "Thank you Idris," she said, looking towards the center of the console. "What is it?"

"Open it and see," Romana said.

Nodding, Joyce opened the box. Nestled inside was a familiar looking ring. "Oh my! Where did she get this? It looks just like the one I gave Buffy." She looked closer. "It even has the same writing on it."

"May I?" Sam asked, holding out a hand.

Joyce looked at Romana, who shrugged, and then Sam. "Yes." She carefully placed the ring in Sam's palm.

"Heavy, for its size," Sam said. "Feels like naqhadah. What's the writing say?" She squinted, trying to read it.

"I've never been able to read it," Joyce said. Taking the ring back, she ran a finger lightly over the writing. "I don't think it actually says anything," she said. "It's just a bunch of letters and numbers. Shouldn't Idris's translation circuit let us read it?"

"Yes," Romana said, frowning. They didn't need to know that Idris could be selective about what she translated for her passengers.

"Let's get you changed," Sam told Joyce, holding out her hand. "I'm sure Romana has places to be."

Nodding, Joyce put the ring on her left ring finger, and took Sam's hand in her other, allowing herself to be pulled out of the room.

Romana watched them go for a moment before turning to the console. "Something you need to tell me, Idris?" she asked.

A large ring covered in symbols appeared, projected holographically in front of her, next to a string of similar symbols.

"Co-ordinates? To Joyce's ancestral home?" Romana said, taking an educated guess. A brief feeling of approval flooded Romana's mind. "And you don't think they should know that yet?" Of course not, Romana thought grumpily. There were times when she suspected that the Time Lords of this dimension died out due to sheer annoyance at the antics of their TARDIS's, which, if Idris was a prime example, seemed to have their own agenda.

* * *

"Can you find something for me to wear while I change?" Joyce asked, closing the door to their future bedroom.

"As you wish," Sam said, with a straight face, though the twinkle in her eyes gave Joyce a warm feeling in her chest.

"You'll need to change also," Joyce said, starting to unbuckle her top.

"Oh?" Sam said, looking over from the large closet.

"If I'm going to change, so are you, my dear," Joyce said, pulling off her dress. Shaking it, the leather and buckles rattling, she folded it and placed it on the bed. Sitting down on the bed she started to unlace the soft leather boots she was wearing. "Something more appropriate."

"What's wrong with this?" Sam asked, patting her jeans for emphasis.

"Did you bring any jeans with you?" Joyce asked.

"No, it was a work trip," Sam said, clearly puzzled.

"And the people you came with on this trip?" Joyce asked, pulling off her boots and laying them on top of the dress. "Would they notice?"

"My team," Sam said. "Maybe?"

"They're men," Joyce said. "Anything that makes you look sexier than they're expecting, they'll notice. Like those jeans."

"You think these jeans make me look sexy?" Sam asked, grinning. Walking over to the bed she put a long skirt and peasant blouse down next to Joyce, before leaning down to softly kiss her.

"On you they are," Joyce said, several minutes later when they came up for air. "I'll need a different bra," she added, reaching up to unhook the one she was wearing. "This won't fit in a minute."

"Really?" Sam asked, stepping in front of her. "Need help?" she asked, holding out a hand. "Or music?"

"Changing? No," Joyce said, laughing before draping her bra across Sam's wrist. "Music? Maybe next time, if you're good. You aren't going to turn around, are you," she said.

"If you really want me to, I will," Sam said. Stepping back, she pulled over one of the chairs, straddling it backwards, facing her. "Though, we've already seen each other dressed in less. Much less."

"Yes, we've definitely gone beyond modesty, at this point," Joyce said, forcing herself to keep her arms from covering her chest, playing with the ring. "I don't usually do this with an audience."

"I'm sure we can find something for some stress relief."

"You do, do you?" Joyce said, raising an eyebrow. "Do we have time for your stress relief method?"

Sam grimaced. "Not if we do it right."

Joyce shook her head. "Some other time then," she said, standing up to remove her panties, leaving herself completely nude, except for the ring. "Like what you see?" she asked, twirling around. Sam's expression was answer enough.

"How often do you change form?" Sam asked after taking several deep breaths, propping her chin on her hands.

"Almost never," Joyce said, looking down at herself, wondering what Sam was really seeing, herself or her physical features. Next to Sam she felt so plain. "There was no reason to. Hank had no idea."

"Hank?"

"Ex-husband," Joyce said. "I didn't mention him?"

"Not by name," Sam said.

"He occasionally drops in to see the girls," Joyce told her. "It wasn't a bad divorce, as such things go," she added. "It wasn't 'War of the Roses' bad anyway."

"Ah." Sam nodded. "When was the last time you changed?"

"November," Joyce said. "Buffy accidentally changed on Halloween, I'm not sure how. I changed to show her it wasn't a big deal. She was babbling something about elves and magic. And fanboys."

"You do look faintly elvish," Sam said. "Too dainty to be a Vulcan."

"Really?" Joyce frowned. "I wasn't much for fantasy growing up. And Kirk was annoying."

"He always seemed to get the girl," Sam said. "I bet Spock was his wingman when they went bar hopping in all of those alien ports. Spock did the stoic thing to draw them in, and Kirk closed the deal."

"You could pull that off," Joyce said, winking. "You've got some of that cockiness Kirk had. I bet you drown in groupies when you travel."

"No, not really," Sam said, frowning. "They usually fall for Daniel. He's got that innocent look down to a science."

"I'd be your wingman," Joyce said, smirking, "though I'd rather keep you to myself. I wonder if Spock was ever jealous?"

"Of Kirk's women? Or of Kirk?" Sam asked.

"Does it matter?" Joyce said. "He'd probably break Kirk."

"You've obviously thought about that a lot," Sam said, laughing.

"No," Joyce said, giggling. "Just a conversation I overheard once."

"How do you start?" Sam asked, after shaking her head in amusement, trying to get them back on track. "In the cell you seemed to meditate for a few minutes and then it just happened."

"The ring, or those metal cuffs, does make it much easier," Joyce said. "Without that metal, it can take a while if I'm out of practice. Almost half an hour or so, depending on how relaxed I am."

"You mean the naqhadah," Sam said. At Joyce's blank look, she said, "That's what the metal is called."

"Right," Joyce murmured. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on how she wanted to look. She could feel that tingling along her skin and through her bones that signaled the change was in progress.

"Wow!" Sam breathed. "That's amazing."

Opening her eyes, Joyce looked around the room and sighed. It seemed quite a bit duller than it had before she'd closed her eyes.

"Have you ever watched this happening?" Sam asked. "It was almost like magic."

"Yes?" Joyce said, trying to visualize it from Sam's perspective. It had been relatively pain free this time. Her bones didn't ache like they usually did after the change. But other than that, it was the same as always, if a little quicker.

"It wasn't a sudden change," Sam said. "And not loud and gory, like werewolves when they change in horror movies. It was more like you expanded to fill your larger shape. I wonder were it all goes when you change in the other direction?"

"No idea," Joyce said, picking up the blouse. "I've never lost anything doing this. It's something genetic."

"Maybe it doesn't go anywhere," Sam murmured. "We didn't check to see if you lost any mass. You do look younger."

"Younger?" Joyce stepped around Sam to get to the dresser. Digging through one of the drawers, she found a bra that looked like it would fit well enough for now. Digging in another drawer, she managed to find plain panties, buried at the bottom of assorted styles of things she hadn't worn in years. Shaking her head at her future self, she quickly slipped them on. Turn back around, she pulled on the blouse. It was obviously meant for someone several sizes larger, like Sam.

"Younger? Joyce repeated, after zipping up the skirt. "Early thirties, instead of late thirties, more or less," Sam said. "Not a huge change."

"Not really seeing it," Joyce murmured, looking in the mirror on the dressing table. "Shoes?" she said, hoping for something to protect her feet. The wonderful boots she'd been wearing wouldn't fit.

"Sandals?" Sam asked, holding up a well worn pair.

"Needs must," Joyce said, sighing and taking them from her. "Do you see any kind of bag?"

"For?"

"I'd like to take these with me," she said, patting the clothes she'd been wearing earlier.

"A souvenir?"

"Maybe," Joyce said, shrugging. She wasn't sure why she wanted to take clothes that only fit when she was changed. It could be years before she did it again.

"A kiss before we go?" Sam said, wrapping her arms around Joyce. "One for the road?"

"We will meet again," Joyce told her. "We haven't done the cliche drunken Vegas marriage yet."

"Plenty of time for that," Sam said, smirking. "I'm sure I can find a reason to be out that way."

"I'd rather not meet at Area 51 any time soon," Joyce said. "I'd want that upper seminar on escaping first."

"No, not that," Sam said. "We'd end up like Thelma and Louise."

"Which one would you be?" Joyce asked, laughing.

"I've always wanted to be Thelma," Sam said. "And you look a bit like Louise. Susan Sarandon could be your older sister. Of the two actresses, Geena Davis gets all the fun roles - pirate, sleeper agent."

"Didn't she sleep with an alien in some movie?" Joyce said, leaning into Sam's hug.

"Yes, in 'Earth Girls are Easy'," Sam said, mock leering down at her. "Though you don't have blue fur."

"And no plans to grow any," Joyce said. "Besides, I'm from Ohio, not outer space."

"You seem more California than Mid-West without the ears," Sam said. "We aren't quite ready to go on another adventure."

"Went to college in LA," Joyce said. "I've lived in the area ever since." Sighing, she pulled Sam down and kissed her. She had no plans to lose track of her companion, Area 51 or not.

* * *

"Ah, good, you're ready," Romana said, watching Samantha and Joyce reenter the control room. She said nothing about how long it had taken them. From the happy humming of Idris in the back of her mind she suspected it was one of those human things they didn't talk about.

"You should get going," she said.

"We'll meet again?" Joyce asked.

"Of course, though it's possible it will be backwards," Romana said.

"Backwards?" Sam said.

"It's possible that the next time we meet, will be the first time, for me," Romana said. "My past, your future."

"That will be strange," Joyce said. "Won't that mess up our personal timeline things?"

"It's…" Romana started to say.

"Complicated," Sam finished for her. "I'm assuming that's why you haven't asked us to travel with you, like we seem to have already done. To avoid some kind of time loop?"

"In a manner of speaking," Romana said, frowning at the inadequacy of human speech. "Right now our timelines are crossing at an odd angle. Our third meeting should fix the complications."

"Third time for all of us?" Sam asked.

"Correct," Romana said. "You have a good grasp of the temporal mechanics, for a human."

"Thanks?" Sam said.

"How'd you know where to drop us off?" Joyce asked, poking her head out the door. "And how'd Idris fit in my room?"

"Really?" Sam said, joining her. "You parked in a room smaller than the outside of your TARDIS! How'd you do that?"

"Idris can be exceedingly clever at times," Romana said smugly. "Go along. I'm sure you both have things you must do today."

"Yes! My flight," Joyce said, swing the small knapsack over a shoulder.

"And I should probably get back to my room before someone discovers the mess," Sam said.

"Thanks for the rescue," Joyce said, stopping in the door and giving Romana a quick smile, before poking Sam.

"Right. Thanks for the rescue. A lot less stressful than normal," Sam said, before following Joyce.

Romana stared at the closing doors for several long moments before sighing. "Shall we?" she said to Idris. With a hum of agreement, the TARDIS took off.

* * *

"Carter," Colonel O'Neill said laconically, standing in the doorway of Sam's hotel room. "You had a party, and we weren't invited."

"Party, Sir?" Sam asked. She'd just managed to find and put all of Joyce's clothes in her carry-on, glad for once that she packed lightly. She'd mail them to her as soon as she got home, she decided, feeling Joyce's business card in a pocket, with her home address scribbled on the back.

He waved at the mess.

"Ah. I appear to have had visitors while I was at breakfast," she said.

"Hmph," he said. "Must have been some breakfast. Your friend from the bar last night?"

"Joyce? Yes. And no, Daniel, I didn't ask her to sell you that painting. You'll have to do that yourself." Sam shook her head.

"Looks like you got lucky last night," Daniel said, sticking his head in to examine the mess.

"In more ways than one," Jack added, smirking.

Shaking her head, Sam continued gathering together her things. "Unlike some, I don't discuss personal matters in public."

"Jaffa," Teal'c said, seemingly randomly.

"Jaffa what?" Jack said.

"The damage to Samantha Carter's accommodations," he said, "was caused by Jaffa."

"Some secret Jaffa detection method you neglected to tell us about?" Jack asked.

"No," he said laconically, pointing at a mark on the door. "Their Lord's symbol."

"I don't recognize that glyph," Daniel said.

"Arani," Sam said, shaking her head. How she'd thought she'd be able hide the kidnapping from Teal'c she wasn't sure. Probably the adrenaline of successfully escaping? Fortunately, she'd warned Joyce that she might receive a visit from someone bearing official non-disclosure forms, if someone found out about their encounter with a Goa'uld.

"Arani? Hindu?" Daniel asked.

"Yes. Apparently one of Kali's minions attempting to branch out," Sam said, going back to packing.

"Do we know a Kali?" Jack asked, frowning.

"The name is familiar," Daniel said. "A minor System Lord."

"Indeed," Teal'c said.

"So, this Arani and her Jaffa show up, and you were at breakfast with your new friend?" Jack said.

"There might have been a kidnapping and rescue in between the two events," Sam admitted reluctantly, zipping up her carry-on as they watched.

"That's very efficient, even for you, Carter," Jack said. "Usually, your rescues require lots of big science and explosions."

"No explosions this time, sorry sir," Sam said.

"And your lady friend?" Jack said. "Do we need to have chat with her about government secrets and non-discloser forms."

"She might be expecting a visit from Major Davis," Sam said.

"Thinking ahead. Excellent. And your report?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said. "As soon as we get back to the Mountain."

"Good. Good. Do we need a cleanup crew?" Jack said, looking around the room. "The hotel isn't going to be happy. Might bill you extra."

"Just needs a little straightening up," Sam said, nodding. "Sir."

"Good. Wouldn't want to miss our flight because of paperwork," he said.

"We drove," Daniel said, shaking his head. "You wanted to get in some fishing on the way back."

"Right," Jack said. "Hurry up! Chop, Chop! Don't want to miss the boat."

"Yes, Jack," Daniel said, stepping into the room to help.

* * *

Pulling into the driveway, Joyce sighed with relief. Her day had started out in a fairly normal fashion. Unpacking shipments from her last trip. Updating the gallery catalog. Paying bills. Nothing overly exciting. But, less than ten minutes after her secretary had left for the day, she'd had a visitor.

Not completely unexpected. Sam had warned her. But she'd still briefly panicked at the possible reasons someone in an Air Force uniform would be in her gallery. Fortunately, it had been the expected visit.

_"Ms. Summers?" he'd said, black briefcase in one hand, hat in the other._

_"Yes?" she'd said._

_"You recently spent some time in the company of a Samantha Carter?" he said._

_"Yes."_

_"There are several things we need to go over," he said._

_"We should do this in my office," she'd said. "Major ?"_

_"Davis, Paul Davis."_

It had taken her an hour to go through and sign all of the forms he'd handed her, not wanting to miss a single detail and asking for explanations of some of the more obscure clauses. She wondered if he was the person they sent every time they needed to shock a civilian into submission with bureaucracy, his calm demeanor never changing.

He'd then interrogated her, that was the only way to describe it, about the entire experience with Sam for over an hour, though a few things seemed to have been left out of the list of questions he used. He didn't seem to know that their rescuer had met them before, or that she and Sam had become more than casual acquaintances before being kidnapped.

Something she would have to ask Sam about the next time they talked, she decided. Shaking her head, she slowly got out of her car and tiredly walked up to the front door.

"Mom!" Dawn yelled, intercepting her as she walked in. "Can I have this?" she asked, holding up the dress Joyce had thought she'd carefully buried in the back of her closet.

"I don't think it will fit you, honey," she said, taking the dress and gently guiding her into the living room, where her other daughter, and Willow, were watching television. Dropping her purse onto the coffee table, she plopped down with a tired sigh next to Willow.

"It looks like something Agatha would wear," Dawn said, standing in front of her.

"Agatha?" Joyce looked at Buffy for an explanation.

"It's my fault, Ms. Summers," Willow said, putting a hand on Buffy's mouth to stop her from saying anything. "She saw me reading 'Girl Genius' when you were on your trip."

"Willow had no defense against her," Buffy said, sadly shaking her head, after removing Willow's hand so she could speak.

"And Agatha?" Joyce asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Agatha Heterodyne. She's the main character. Sort of a mad scientist," Willow said.

"Ah," Joyce murmured, wondering who she could ask about this. She didn't want to discourage Dawn from new interests but she really didn't know much about popular science. Maybe Sam? "Not violent?"

Buffy snorted. "Not any more than all those Japanese comics she likes," she said.

"Manga," Willow corrected her before adding, "Unless you're reading Disney or Archie comics, all the good stuff has some violence, or sex, Ms. Summers."

"Okay," Joyce said. "Dawn?"

"Yes, Mom?" Dawn said.

"What's the rule?"

"Before I can read anything new, you have to approve it?" Dawn said. "But Mom!"

"Who's in charge?"

"You are!" both Dawn and Buffy shouted, before bursting into giggles.

Joyce sighed. "Anything else happen today that I should know about?"

"The school didn't burn down," Buffy said.

"Good to know," Joyce said. "Dawn?"

"Got an 'A' on my spelling test," Dawn said smugly. "Buffy got a 'C' on that paper."

"And you opened that package from Colorado," Buffy said.

"Package?" Joyce asked, making a mental note to discuss Buffy's schoolwork with her later in private.

"Why did someone send you clothes?" Dawn asked. "And who's Sam?"

"Someone I met on my trip," Joyce said. "Was there anything else in the package?"

"You mean this?" Buffy said, holding up a large envelope. "This Sam has girly handwriting."

"Samantha," Joyce corrected, snatching it out of her hand.

"New auction buddy?" Buffy asked curiously.

"Auction buddy?" Willow asked, wide eyed.

"You can get better deals if you're part of a team," Buffy said. "At least that's what Mom always says."

"Which is true, to a point," Joyce said, "but no, not an auction buddy."

"You gonna open it?" Buffy asked.

"Later," Joyce said. "It's personal."

"Oh… that kind of 'buddy'," Willow murmured, squeaking at the firm look Joyce gave her.

"What?" Buffy said, looking at the two of them for an explanation.

"Nothing," Willow said. "Grownup stuff. None of our business."

"What are you watching," Joyce asked, hoping to change the subject. She wasn't about to discuss, or confirm, Willow's guess. "That's not English."

"Nope," Buffy said. "That's what the subtitles are for."

"It's for a class," Willow said.

"Ah." Joyce shook her head. "Are you staying for dinner?" she asked Willow.

"Yes," Buffy said for her. "We're meeting up with Xander later."

"It's a school night," Joyce reminded them, before standing up.

"We won't be out late," Buffy said.

"Be back before nine," Joyce said. "Pizza?"

"Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!" Dawn said, jumping up and shouting at the top of her voice. "With fishes! Fishy fishes!"

"Indoor voice, Dawn," Joyce said firmly. "Is that a yes?" she asked when Buffy rolled her eyes at her sister.

"Yes," Buffy said, poking Willow.

"Yes, please, Ms. Summers," Willow quickly added.

Nodding, Joyce left them to their foreign movie and headed upstairs to put on something more comfortable. She had a letter to read and pizza to order.

**The End. For Now.**


End file.
